


all the above

by sheelia



Series: natural forces [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, Future, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheelia/pseuds/sheelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo, through Kenma's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the above

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eicinic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eicinic/gifts).



> This is for Eicinic, whose art has reduced me to a sad and happy mess. More specifically, this was inspired by a piece that was captioned "[How Kenma sees Kuroo](http://eicinic.tumblr.com/post/120031298645/how-kenma-sees-kuroo)". I love how her art is able to evoke so many emotions that are impossible to dissect; it has me feeling happy, hopeful, yet sad and bittersweet at times. I'm just really thankful for all the people who contribute to fandom, and I guess this is just a way to show how much I appreciate them :~) I need to lie down for a moment. Maybe many moments.

There are no words to describe Kuroo. No matter how hard he thought about it, Kuroo was always, just simply, Kuroo.

He is lying on their bed that morning, the third draft of a manuscript sitting in his lap. Beside him, the bed is empty, but the room is still warm, the morning sunlight filtering in through the blinds. He watches Kuroo put on his off-white dress shirt, smoothing down the creases as he tucks it into his pants and fastens on his belt.

He wonders how he ever got so lucky.

"Kenma," Kuroo's voice floats in from above like a dream, and Kenma jolts out of his reverie to find that he had been pressing the tip of his gel pen on his paper for a long time, leaving a large blue dot and the pity of wasted ink. He had been trying to find replacement for one of the words in this paragraph and he was, unfortunately, distracted.

He recaps the gel pen and places it on the stack of paper.

"Yeah?" He mumbles, still a little sleepy.

Kuroo is now putting on his tie, the black shade a stark contrast against his skin, and he chides affectionately, "Don't you have to go to work?"

Kenma uses a hand to scrub his face. He sinks his face into his two hands and mumbles through the spaces in between his fingers, "I've got a meeting at 11 a.m. That's all."

Kuroo groans, "Unfair."

There's a slight quality in Kuroo's voice that causes him to shiver, so he pulls the duvet tighter around his body.

"If you're feeling cold you should put on a shirt," he reminds, voice soft and sweet against the shell of his ear.

He winds his fingers around Kuroo's wrist, a little petulant.

"I'll see you later for lunch?" Kuroo asks, prying himself out of Kenma's grip. His eyes slide to the bedside clock, which cheekily reminds him that he's already late. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to eat his breakfast walking to the train station again.

When Kuroo leaves, and Kenma can hear the closing of the front door, Kenma sinks his weight against the headboard of his bed and cancels the word in the paragraph with two clean lines, writing neatly above it: _Ineffable_.

* * *

Kuroo has the bad habit of leaving his clothes everywhere: on doorknobs, on the floor, draped over the sofa. At first, Kenma spent a considerable amount of time picking up after him, putting the pieces of clothing back where they were supposed to be: in the closet, or into the washing machine.

When it became clear that Kenma would have to spend his entire life doing this, he accepted the fact that he was never going to see the actual arm of his sofa. He liked bits and pieces of Kuroo all around him. His smell, his love, enveloping him in a way which knew no release.

Kuroo likes to use receipts as bookmarks, sliding them into his books, and then abandoning them all throughout the apartment: on the living room coffee table, on the bedside dresser, or in the bathroom drawer. He leaves notes on the back of flyers and a part of Kenma cannot bear throwing them away, so Kenma just ends up hoarding and hoarding.

This is why they don't invite friends over, because it is widely agreed upon that bad habits are not a stand in for apartment decor.

* * *

They have lunch at a tempura restaurant outside Mitsukoshimae station. It is a quaint four levelled restaurant with low ceilings and wooden flooring. Sitting on the third floor, they have a nice view of the intersection beneath them. When the pedestrian signal turns green, Kenma can see a whole sea of black and white.

"How was the meeting?" Kuroo asks between bites, furiously stuffing his mouth with white rice. The breakfast apple did nothing to satisfy his stomach.

"Terrible," Kenma complains. He dips his ebi tempura in the sauce with his chopsticks. "They're asking me to take another writer."

"Who knew light novel editors had such a _heavy_ workload," Kuroo wiggles his eyebrows and bumps his knees against Kenma's.

"Ugggghhhh," Kenma continues, grumbling into his cup of iced tea, making it sound like he's gargling.

They take turns complaining about their jobs as a form of stress relief, even after they had finished their meals and gone to the nearby supermarket to stock up on groceries. It's a fair distance from Chuo to Nakano, and Kenma prefers not to carry that many grocery bags on the train, so they just decide to buy whatever they can't find at their neighborhood store.

"Are you in the mood for," Kuroo asks, squinting at the English words, "Swiss premium chocolates?"

"We've got chocolate at home. We don't need that," Kenma guides Kuroo's hand back to the shelf, where the bar of chocolate had come from.

Kuroo loads items like spaghetti and macadamia nuts haphazardly, pushing the basket down the aisle using his feet.

Grocery bags hanging on his arms, Kenma is about to descend down the station stairs when Kuroo calls out to him. When he turns around, he sees Kuroo jogging towards him.

"It might rain. Do you have an umbrella?"

He's not sure why Kuroo asked, since Kuroo most definitely isn't carrying an umbrella on him anyway, and he isn't going to spend 500 yen on a new umbrella when they have plenty at home. He taps on his sling bag, "Yeah, I do."

Kuroo huffs in relief, adding, "I'll cook dinner when I get home. I'll try not to be late."

Kenma eases into a bashful smile, "Yeah. I'm never cooking again. Everything I touch dies."

Kuroo starts laughing, and when he calms down he adds as an afterthought, "Well, it's true. Every time you touch me, I die a little inside."

 

* * *

 

After graduating from university, they moved out of the city and into one of the nearby wards. Nakano was a good distance between their workplaces and their parent's home.

Once a fortnight, they travel west to visit their parents. Kenma carries a basket of fruits in the crook of his arm every time he visits, and Kuroo brings a bottle of sake. Their parents always wave them off and tell them it's unnecessary, but they still do it anyway. It's the routine they've slipped into, and they like doing things that way.

Tonight, they have dinner at Kenma's parents' home. His mother prepares a steaming hot pot, making Kenma stand next to her while she prepares it. She tells him to watch closely and try to replicate it himself when he cooks at his own home, but Kenma knows better. At the very least, he helps by cutting up the spring onions, albeit a little slowly to avoid accidentally slicing his fingers off.

In the middle of drinks Kenma slips out into the backyard, face slightly hot but still sober. He knows Kuroo has a problem saying no, especially to his father every time he refills his glass of alcohol. One of them needs to be sober if they want to make it home on public transport.

He picks up the rake leaned against the wall and starts to sweep up the stray leaves littered across the yard, letting the fact that his parents are growing old sink in. He's put everything in a neat pile when Kuroo shuffles out of the back door and greets him, glass of sake still in his hand.

"What are you doing?" He asks, setting the glass down on the table in the veranda.

Kenma directs his gaze to the pile of leaves next to his feet, "Chores."

He approaches Kenma with the same mischievous grin he's had since he was a kid, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and Kenma is already backing away, uttering a small stream of "No, no, Kuro, no." The next thing Kenma registers is that he's lying on his back with Kuroo pressed on top of him, and the pile of leaves he had worked so hard on raking was now scattered everywhere.

Kuroo's skin is burning like he has a fever, and every touch sets Kenma on fire.

"Doesn't this bring back memories?" Kuroo asks, his eyes bright in the moonlight. In the background, he hears their parents laughing from their conversation in the dining room.

"Yeah, all those bad memories," Kenma jokes, combing his fingers through Kuroo's hair, and then, "I think. My hand's stuck."

* * *

It's past two in the morning and he's still looking at the manuscript, lying heavy in his hands. The longer he stares at each word, the weirder it looks, and it becomes harder to grasp the concept that different characters put together can create meaning.

It is clearly too late to be working. He climbs into bed, where Kuroo is already fast asleep, but he doesn't end up falling asleep until thirty minutes later.

When he gets ready for work the next morning — there is a 9 a.m. meeting he cannot skip out on — he spends a long time in the bathroom just looking at himself in the mirror. He finds that the longer he stares at his reflection, the less he sees. That he is just a make up of a pair of eyes, a nose, and a pair of lips.

He isn't particularly muscular, nor particularly tall. His hair is rough under his touch, as if he is running his fingertips over gritty sandpaper. He's had blond hair since high school; it takes a while for him to recall what he looked like with black hair.

He's afraid that if he looks long enough, he'll realise that there's nothing there, and wonders whether Kuroo will experience the same revelation. The thought itself is toxic, and Kenma knows it. It drowns out all his other thoughts and leaves a void.

"Kenma! The porridge is done!" He hears Kuroo's voice from the kitchen. Hastily, he towels his hair dry and puts on his work clothes.

* * *

The 9 a.m. meeting is in a cafe near his office. He's meeting a new author and he will use this meeting to decide whether he wants to take the project. He's already got two other authors to take care of, and honestly he's a little angry that his publishing house wants him to take another.

She arrives at nine on the dot, and sits across him on the tiny round table. His coffee comes shortly after, and it is decorated with cat shaped coffee art, foam sticking up as cat ears. It sits between them, wholly inappropriate and blissfully unaware.

Meekly, the young lady slides her manuscript across the table. Already, the thickness of the stack gives Kenma a headache.

"Tell me what your story is about," he says mildly, sipping on his coffee.

"Um," the lady gulps, "It's a romance story."

"Naturally," Kenma nods. At the back of his head he's already thinking of excuses to leave.

The lady starts to panic. From his seat he can imagine her wringing the hem of her dress. "It's about a girl who falls in love with her childhood friend. And the story is a countdown of their days left together in high school before he leaves for university."

Kenma stalls, his lips still attached to his cup as he mentally processes how uncanny the situation is. The coffee burns his lip and he nearly spits.

"Okay. I'll work with you," he replies.

Across him, the girl relaxes, and Kenma has to sit up and peer across the table to make sure she didn't melt off her chair.

* * *

"This," Kuroo jolts to attention, "It's our song."

Kenma looks up from the newspaper. He is currently reading the news. Nothing too grim, just the depreciation of the Japanese yen and a small fire in one of the restaurants in town.

Kuroo is jerking his hand at the radio, "Kenma."

Kenma narrows his eyes, "No."

Kuroo starts shifting in his seat and wiggles his shoulders, whining, "Kennnnmaaaaaa. Pleeease."

Kenma relents, and the motion of him getting out of his chair sends Kuroo cheering. He slides a hand into Kuroo's and he's led to the middle of the living room. They twirl and they glide, Kuroo's enthusiasm enough for the both of them. Occasionally they bump into something, but the damage is minimal.

Kuroo's mouth falls open as he laughs without a care. Kenma takes this as an invitation, getting up on tiptoes to fit his mouth against his. He can feel the bass thump through the floor and the staccato beats in his pulse even after the music has ended.

* * *

From the shortening of daylight Kenma can feel the onset of autumn. It is nearing sunset and the sun bathes the area in an orange, incandescent glow. They take a small detour from the train station to pass by the field they frequented as children.

Kenma sets the fruit basket down next to him on the grass.

Kuroo walks slowly, as if he's dancing. Eventually, he settles beside Kenma. He rolls the bottle of sake between his hands. From their sitting position on the wide expanse of grass, they have a perfect view of the sunset. The grass underneath Kenma's palms feel alive.

Slowly, the sun creeps across the sky, vanishing beyond the horizon. Or, at least, as far as this view allows them to see.

Kuroo calls out to Kenma, his voice soft like a whisper, "You're the most beautiful in the world."

Kenma's breath catches in his throat and it makes him dizzy and overwhelmed. The grass is alive under his touch and the sunset is staring him in the face.

He smiles, both in fondness and relief, "You liar.”

**Author's Note:**

> more fun things:  
> \- this is set into the future, in the same timeline as the one in _ni-chome_ , but you don't have to read that to know what's going on here. it's just my interpretation of where i see these characters ending up years into the future.  
> \- can somebody tell me what is 'their song'? because i would love to know. lmao. i keep wanting it to be something sweet and suave, but i just end up thinking about [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rrXR6n0RTY).  
> \- please hold my hand on tumblr @ plaire (◕‿◕✿)


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